No Nay Never
by lyin
Summary: Not just anyone was asked to join the First Order of the Phoenix, only the bold and the brave, the best witches and wizards of their age... They didn't all say yes. Latest chapter: Kingsley Shacklebolt arrests James Potter...a lot.
1. go home

_A/N: You all know the disclaimer song and dance so I'll spare you. This is going to be a short series of one-shots, so if you like it, feel free to alert it since there'll be more coming this way. Anyhow, there's a number of characters who seem like they should have been in the First Order of the Phoenix but weren't, for reasons never given. I just happen to have reasons in my head for a few..._

* * *

The Order came calling on Amelia Bones in the form of her brother Edgar, and before he could even ask her to join she told him no.

She didn't ask him in, not even for a morning tea. She cinched her robe tighter over her nightgown and squinted her weak eye as she looked up at him. Once she could look down at the crown of Edgar's head, but that was many decades behind them and the crown of his head was bald.

"What do you mean, 'no'? Not so much as a good morning? You haven't even heard me out," said Edgar, his chin wobbling with surprise.

"I won't, Ned," said Amelia, using his boyhood nickname. "Don't make me Silence you, because I will-"

He tossed his head in annoyance, a gesture that'd been far more effective when he'd had hair, and raised his voice. "This isn't a time to be bull-headed, we could use you-"

The tip of Amelia's wand jutted into his ribcage and his words fizzled into a sharp exhale. "Of course you could use me," she said. "Now as your sister, I advise you not to elaborate on your 'we' any farther with senior personnel of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, because if you were to admit or even suggest any entanglement with the supposed 'Order of the Phoenix' I would have to have you at least indicted, possibly arrested, and certainly fired."

Edgar's mouth moved wordlessly for a moment, trying on shapes until it found something functional. "Come again?" he said carefully, his gold tooth glinting in the dawn light.

"You know our position on all Phoenix-related activity," said Amelia, wand hand and lips holding steady. "The British Ministry will not condone vigilantism- let me _finish_, Edgar," she said tautly, "and while not forbidden, neither do we approve of secret societies. You must recall the disaster with the Bang-Up Brotherhood of Weathering Warlocks, your office had quite the clean-up with all the Assyrian contraband in their possession-"

"That was a devil of a thing but it's hardly comparable," said Edgar. "The worst danger the warlocks faced was combusting from their hexed hookah, which I'd give a thumb and forefinger to get the Death Eaters to partake in. That'd save us a good deal of fuss, but 'Melia, they are not the grand old sort of secret society. And, speaking in only the most general of senses o'course, your judgeship, the Phoenix is an Order, not a bleedin' society. More like a big lovely neighborhood watch, eh?"

"And what neighbors are these that have appointed them guardians?"

He furrowed his brow in surprise. "Well- only our- themselves, but that's hardly-"

"No one has duly elected them. We have Aurors. Trained, certified trustworthy men and women to confront threats on the level you're suggesting. We have a Hit Patrol, Obliviators, we have a Werewolf Capture Squad-"

"And we can't trust them," said Edgar, so harshly Amelia took a sharp breath. "They're subverting the ranks, they hardly need infiltrate the bureaucracy when it's already under the wand tips of the Lestranges-"

"Need I remind you that I am the bureaucracy?" said Amelia in a soft voice that cut his legs out from under him.

Edgar wobbled. "_Part_ of the bureaucracy- "

"And still. Do you see Rigel Lestrange or one of those sons of his standing over my shoulder? Hmm? No? Or perhaps Abraxas Malfoy?" Her imperious glare, perfected down to the half-turn of the head, would have been much more effective if she had her monocle in. She fished hopefully but vainly into her robe pocket for it.

"'Melia," said Edgar, sadly. "_You_ are beyond reproach, it's the rest-"

"No one is beyond reproach," said Amelia, jabbing him again with her wand. He backed up and nearly lost his balance as he accidentally went down a step. "No one is above the law. Not me, not you, not the Lestranges and Malfoys no matter how much money they line in government pockets, not You-Know-Who-"

Edgar flushed at once, snapping, "Can't you say his name? Is he so terri-"

"Oh, not _him_," said Amelia, rolling her eyes and her whole head gesturing with them. "I was referring to your man. Wherever there's an Order there's an orderer, is there not?"

"He's the best of men," said Edgar, proudly. "You know him. You're _fond_ of him- you are, 'Melia, and you can be so difficult in approving of people. And you know Dumb- 'Melia!"

Edgar had to stick his arm in the door to keep it from closing on him. The wood hit hard.

"Perhaps if I do approve of this orderer, if not his actions, I'd rather not arrest him either," came Amelia's voice from behind the door. "And if you are attempting to propose what I am quite confident you are attempting to propose, it should be made cleared to you once and for all that I will not engage in any way, shape or form in activity that would ethically bind me to put out a warrant for my own arrest."

"The government isn't doing enough-"

"We're pouring everything we have into this fight- against men who wear masks, against people used against their will- we're trying- now if these Phoenixes would deign to come into my office, or even yours, and begin the process of filing permits towards a sort of citizen's protection-"

"And in the meantime how many children's grandparents are murdered in their homes!"

He sounded inflamed and a little bit broken behind the fire. She slid the door back all the way open. "Don't make this about Mum and Dad-"

"_He_ killed them!" She thought perhaps she should reconsider letting him in from the porch. Any louder and the Muggle neighbors would have the bobbies out to sort the trouble.

Amelia Bones stayed collected. She was good at that. "We can't prove it."

"Take his wand and we'll see about proof-"

"Oh? I don't believe this Order you're so keen on is faring any better in seizing the so-tilted Lord Voldemort."

Edgar shook his head for a moment, raising his hand to his temple and stalking her porch step. "…I can't understand you. You're far from a coward. Why won't-"

"As your sister, I'm asking you to leave choosing my battles to my own judgment," said Amelia, and pursed her lips solemnly. "As I leave yours to your own. _As long as you kindly refrain from telling me about it_."

He drank that in, and nodded. "I appreciate that… but if you would only hear me out-"

"_Edgar_. We're not discussing this."

"…Please?"

She looked at him and saw the baby brother who'd briefly been exactly half her size and easy to knock over with one good shove, who'd left Filibusters Fireworks in her Hogwarts trunk because he was so furious she was leaving him behind. Their arguments had been petty things then even when they ended in tears, forgotten as soon as teeth marks faded off each other's arms.

She wished she could give his thick brown hair a good ruffle, the way she'd always set him straight, but it was gone, shaved since it grew in only thin and in spots these days and left barely enough for a stringy comb-over that Edgar's dignity couldn't stomach. The sideburns he kept as some misguided point of pride made him look like a man of the last century, like their grandfather Bones who everyone said Amelia took after, both in her hatchet of a mind and, unfortunately, hatchet of a face. She put a hand to her hair, thinking of the strands of steel slipping in, and wondered when they'd become the older adults, responsible for running countries and averting wars.

"My tea's getting cold," she said. "I'll see you at work on Monday."

His shoulder sagged and all Amelia could think, desperately, was that he looked so _old_, and nearing fifty wasn't old, oh no, certainly not for a wizard. It was hard times doing this to him, hard times all around, but really what was he thinking, a grown-up man and Ministry officer, with little ones at home. She was sorry. She was doing all she could but she couldn't do what he asked of her. It went against everything she believed in and lived by, what she spent her days building up and keeping from crashing down.

"I suppose you will," said Edgar at last, looking dazed. He was smart, her brother, always had been a whip-smart boy, but could talk circles around him still.

She lowered her wand, and with a nudge from her foot, opened the door a crack more. "Promise me," she said sternly, summoning every drop of iron in her blood till it rang cold in her voice, "that you shall not involve Timon in this."

Edgar's lips turned up a little at the name of their youngest brother, nice-looking and a little silly, married a few years now and just beginning to try for children even in the midst of everything. Timon was even throwing around names, perhaps Edmund seeing as Edgar had named one of his Timothy, or Susan after Amelia Susan. Sometimes Timon seemed half a century younger, not half a decade. He certainly had the gumption to join the fight but Edgar felt better about everything with his little brother safe on the sidelines. He thought, with a sting, his poor sister probably thought the same of him. "No," he agreed quietly, "no, not Timon." He cleared his throat, which felt rather thick. "Shall I tell Polly and the nippers you sent your love?"

"Please do," said Amelia, "and kisses as well." She watched her brother turn away, back to the Order she did her best to turn a blind eye to, towards battles she couldn't officially condone and duels that could be the death of him. She was very angry at him, if she was honest with herself.

Though if she was being honest, she was a bit proud of him too. She felt the temptation to holler it after him and almost let the words fly, but didn't, quite. Some few years later and in time to come, Amelia would wish she'd called out to him, but now she simply sighed and shook her head.

And shut her door against her brother's back and the morning's bold light.

* * *

_Please take the time to review, any words of feedback mean more than you know, especially just now. _

_Next up: Marlene McKinnon and Dirk Cresswell_


	2. ask

_A/N: I know, I've been gone. I'm studying abroad in Ireland, life's been pretty wild, but I also really haven't been writing as much of anything as I want to be for another reason, and what I have been writing hasn't been turning out so hot. This chapter was only supposed to be a short set-up sentence or so before i got into the story with Dirk Cresswell (which I have about 10 versions of right now) but it got too unwieldy, so voila. 1st chapter dealt with why only one Bones seemed to be in the Order, this time I get into the McKinnons. Next chapter, Marlene's supposed to recruit Dirk Cresswell; then I have planned short Mary MacDonald and Andromeda & Ted pieces & probably one involving Fabian & the Weasleys. Maybe John Dawlish, maybe not, but this fic should end around there. If, you know, I actually ever write them._

_Especial thanks to anyone who reviewed one of my fics in the past couple days/weeks, I got quite a few that made a nice surprise and reminded me, oh, right, fanfiction, I write that! ;D This chapter's more just playing around- the next chapter's the one I really, really want to turn out, and have had in mind for AGES- but anyway, here's one to hopefully pique your interest till then. Enjoy!_

* * *

Marlene McKinnon didn't even need to be asked to join the Order of the Phoenix. Alastor Moody showed up to the McKinnon household in the summer of '77, the question lurking behind his twisted lips, and as Marlene was newly of age, her uncle persuaded her mother she could stay while they heard the man out.

She was thrilled. Someone famous in her house and she got to stay and sit with her brother Michael instead of upstairs with the little kids being watched by Gran. It was a fight not to squirm in her seat with excitement.

"It's war now," said Moody bluntly, leaning intently forward and dismissing her aunt's offer of tea with a tap of his flask. "Damned press might pretty it down and push it to the back of the sheets, but there are those who're looking at it plain, thinking out what'll come of letting these trumped-up fiends run amuck with only those elected bumblers in their way, and we can see what's coming- and that's nothing short of the end of our world."

Marlene's brother let out a low, flippant whistle. "Heavy," said Michael, better known as the Mick outside the McKinnon household. He'd graduated three years back and was married with kids already, which wasn't really going so well for him as the girl in question was Muggle, quite religious, and not exactly rushing to embrace magic.

Marlene'd thought it was stupid, so, _so_ stupid of him to marry so young, and so typical, not just of her brother but everyone these days- in a _rush rush rush _to fall in love and get together and live as much of life as they could cram in before something terrible happened (because a lot of terrible things were happening, these days). And dragging Muggles into it without any warning they'd just become targets, keeping them in the dark not only about the troubles but the whole wizarding world like so many were doing these days... it was bad business all around. Her cousin Nan McMillan, too, was refusing to come out of the broom closet with the Muggle bloke she was seeing, even though it was getting serious. It was a mad time for romancing, as far as Marlene was concerned- and things breaking off with Gideon Prewett after he'd graduated had absolutely no relevance to that opinion.

Marlene's mother widened her tired eyes at Michael, a look that warned him to keep his mouth from running amuck as usual. "Isn't that a touch drastic, Alastor?" said Maura McKinnon. She looked even more worn through than usual, which fiercely worried Marlene.

"Drastic!" said Moody, spittle flying out of his mouth with the word. "Drastic's precisely what we're lacking! We're up against zealots, McKinnon, all the worse for being young and dumb, and maybe they aren't airing their true colors out in daylight yet - but there's no call for letting a dragon grow up full-size to see if it thinks you look tasty or not when you can stamp it out before it can get itself off the ground! I'm not running some fool's errand, I'm here for Albus Dumbledore-"

'Same difference,' Michael mouthed at Marlene, and she let out a short laugh, which ended abruptly when Moody fixed his glower on her.

"You know the McKinnons'll stand with your man Dumbledore," her uncle Sean said, which luckily snared Moody's attention. "On anything. Just say the word."

"Consider it said," growled Moody. "Albus' brought in Edgar Bones and me and some of them from up at his school- and his coot of a brother too, though I haven't seen hide or tail of him- on a citizen's watch sort of outfit. A front line of defense."

"Ministry sanctioned?" asked Marlene's aunt Francis, who looked even less enthusiastic than her husband or Marlene's mother.

"Not as such," said Moody. "It'd be more the very best breed of vigilantes."

Vigilantes. It was a spine-searing word. Something straight out of_ The Adventures of Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle_ or _Wily Warlock_ comics she used to swipe out of Michael's room when he wasn't looking. Might for right, running towards dangers and death, living in mystery from minute to minute... the possibilities made Marlene's ribs feel tight. She wanted in on this.

Francis pointedly eyed her husband's big belly, while her sister-in-law's sagging face, basset hound sadness in her eyes, spoke for itself. "We might not be up to snuff for that sort of nighttime running about, Alastor Moody. And we've little ones yet to look after."

Sean moved to protest, but Moody was nodding in agreeement. "Lady's got a point. Don't look so disgruntled, Sean McKinnon, what I hear doesn't have you as much of the duelist anyhow. Good to know you're on my side, but I'd rather you weren't fighting 'longside it. Our Order of the Phoenix- and don't go looking at me, wasn't me that came up with that- will have other needs for you. There's the politics of it, for one, and sure it'll help to say you stand with us if it comes to it- but what we're looking for now's some young blood, and you McKinnons have plenty of it." Moody's false eye swiveled towards Michael. "Hear this one of yours was quite the athlete. You take after the old man in your dueling too, boy?"

He flushed bright red. So did Marlene. "Michael's nothing like our father," she said hotly, ignoring her mother's immediate 'Marlene!' "He's better, with everything, yeah?"

Michael, for all his purported maturity, proceeded to kick Marlene from under the table. "I'm not the one you're looking for," he said to Moody. "Can't, sir. I've got... family, I'm somebody's Da, and I won't be one of the ones who lets down their babies. I can't be going all in either." He paused and exchanged a look with his Uncle Sean. "Mairghread might be your girl, she's Sean and Fran's oldest, she's nearly my age. When she gets back from Spain you might want to try her-"

"I'm loads better than her," said Marlene in a rush, and Moody, for the first time, gave her a gauging look.

"And which one're you?" he asked, while her mother shot her looks.

"I'm Marlene McKinnon. I'm of age," she said, "and I'll go all in for your Phoenix thing, if you'll have me."

His eye swept over her, which left her with an uncomfortable feeling, as if Moody was seeing through her down to her hidden nooks and crannies of embarrasments and unhappinesses. "We'll have to see," he started, when her mother interrupted, her anger lighting her eyes with the most life Marlene had seen in them for years.

"Marlene has another year of school yet, and further training to pursue besides. And if your business is done here and you won't take that cup of tea, I think, Alastor, that you should perhaps be leaving."

"Maybe so," said the Auror, bowing his grizzled head but keeping his strange eye on Marlene, who'd caught her interest now. "We have an understanding, then, Sean?"

"You tell us what you need, and the McKinnons'll answer. Won't we?"

His wife and sister-in-law assented, though Maura's gaze was still fixed on Marlene.

"Show Mr Moody out, will you, Marlene?" said her uncle quietly. She jumped up, gesturing towards the exit through the kitchen. She could hear the adults muttering amongst themselves as she left the room, which especially made her want to hustle out of there. She knew what they'd be whispering, her auntie especially. Impulsive. Thoughtless. Self-indulgent. Mess. All adding up to the worst sting off all, _so much like Mike_. They didn't mean her brother, who never went by Mike. Big Mike was their father.

Moody clomped behind her to the front door, and to her disappointment seemed to be content to leave in silence until he stopped in the threshold. "Bold girl. You looking to be an Auror?"

"Nah," said Marlene, conscious enough of who she was talking to not to laugh at the prospect, "not my cuppa. If I wrack enough NEWTS up I reckon I might take a crack at Healing. Mam'd like it, and I want to help." She looked at him pointedly. "If you're wanting a McKinnon, I'm your girl."

"We'll see," he repeated. "If Dumbledore reckons you're turning out a good witch- then maybe we could use that help of yours in our Order, missy."

Whether or not the Order actually wanted her, nothing and no one was going to keep her out of this. It was shaping up to be the story of the decade, if not the century, the wizarding war to end all wars. And Marlene McKinnon was going to insure she played a part in it, however great or small. "You bet," she said, and watched him go, teeming with thrills. The Order came to the McKinnons, but Marlene signed herself up.


	3. jest

_A/N: Although he seems to be the right age (and I've always imagined some years older than the Marauder era) there's no indication, ever, that Kingsley Shacklebolt was in the first Order. And though it's never addressed again, his first line in the books tells us he knew James Potter on an at least friendly-enough basis: __"Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus…he looks exactly like James." __Anyway, hope you all enjoy, sorry for the long, long delay!_

* * *

Each time James Potter was arrested, he came quietly, officially, since he never put up the slightest fight. Off the record, he wouldn't shut up.

"Did you ever play Quidditch?" Potter asked conversationally, looking over his shoulder and up at the tall Auror cuffing his hands behind his back. "I've seen Beaters for England with arms not half the size of yours. Merciful Mungo, what the hell do you eat for breakfast?"

"Elephants," Kingsley Shacklebolt replied dryly, snapping the cuffs shut.

Potter gaped silently. It didn't last long. "So there's a sense of humor lurking somewhere behind the badge," he said, grinning around his words.

Kingsley felt a stab of annoyance. Walking around in Auror uniform came with the unfortunate consequence of everyone conveniently forgetting he was still a human being and not just part of the law's strongest arm. "Comes with the badge," he said curtly. "Standard issue."

"The last Auror to arrest me must have been out sick when they were passing those out, then," Potter said thoughtfully.

Kingsley pulled out his wand in preparation to depart. The cuffs would keep Potter bound to him in side-along teleportation back to the Ministry. "So you make a habit of climbing through the windows of Muggle residences in the dead of night."

"No," Potter said, before cocking his head in second-thought. "Well, yeah. But only my girlfriend's, usually. This was slightly a special case. I told you, I was—"

"Following a suspicious hooded figure. Which, by the way—" Before Potter could anticipate it, Kingsley placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder and clapped his free hand against the badge on his chest. He felt a jerk at his stomach, like a fish on a hook, and managed to stay steady on his feet as the Portkey dropped them directly into the Apparition-proof holding cells on the lowest level of the Ministry.

Potter, without his arms free to help him balance, went sprawling on the floor when Kingsley instinctively let go of his shoulder on arrival. Kingsley managed to restrain his booming laugh into a quiet cough and tugged Potter to his feet.

"—is my job," Kingsley finished, a bit grimly.

Potter's glasses had slid up onto his forehead, to perch just against his hair. "You got there a bit late to do it," he said, his eyes flashing with intensity. "If I hadn't run Wilkes off—"

"Royce Wilkes?" Kingsley said, lifting his hand from his badge. "You saw his face? You could testify before the Wizengamot that you saw Royce Wilkes dressed in the gear of the so-called Death Eaters while illegally entering a Muggle home on our watch list?"

Potter was twitching his head awkwardly, trying to send his glasses sliding down his face. They were defiantly caught in his hair. "I didn't per se see him so much as I knew it to be him… do you mind?" he said helplessly, jerking his chin upward.

Kingsley brusquely grabbed the glasses—"Ow," Potter said sullenly, as a few strands of hair went with them—and stuck them back over the bridge of Potter's nose. "Explain," Kingsley said shortly.

"Wilkes went into an old phone box being very obviously sneaky, a masked and hooded man came out. It's not Arithmancy," Potter said. He managed to look very casual despite being cuffed and eyed up by other Aurors passing through the lower office and giving Kingsley friendly nods.

"I don't suppose you actually saw him break into the house either," Kingsley said, weary with disappointment.

"I knew where he'd gone," Potter said. "And I'd have had him, too, if it wasn't for your shouting and spotlight and meddling—"

"Remind me, which one of us is the real law enforcement here?" Kingsley said, figuring he better get Potter escorted into a cell till he could send one of the secretaries to officially take his statement while he recorded the breaking and entering charges. He gave him a slight push, not enough to stagger him but just enough to make him move.

Potter looked over his shoulder at him as they marched, all insouciance. "Well isn't that the question of the hour?"

Kingsley saw red. He'd had three years rigorous training, two years as a junior partner mentored under Alastor Moody, the finest Auror of the age, and another three earning his own respect while fighting a street war against terror and keeping it silent to the wider world. This kid was eighteen and straight out of the school room, and, Kingsley well knew, straight from old money, too. "Alright, you little _punk_—"

Potter started shaking with not-quite-silent laughter as Kingsley opened the cell door. "I'm sorry," he said, getting his face straight as he stepped in and turned to look at Kingsley. He immediately crinkled up into laughter again. "Sorry. You'd be surprised how often I get called that. Or… maybe you wouldn't be."

"We don't need children getting in our way," Kingsley said coolly, moving to leave.

"You got in my way," Potter called after him, exasperated. "Just saying!"

"If your story's to be believed," Kingsley said, to the opposite wall. There were no signs Potter had been under an Imperius or acting against his will and he'd surrended at once. Still, Potter was a pureblood caught halfway through the window of the home of the Muggle Johnsons, on a Ministry watch list. The eldest son of the home, Reece, had turned out to be a Muggle-born and was now a master anti-cartographer often called upon when the Ministry needed a building made Unplottable. Kingsley also counted Reece Johnson a personal friend.

Potter heard him. "You know I'm telling the truth! C'mon! Auror Shacklebolt! I saw your face when I said Wilkes! You know what he is!"

What Kingsley knew and what he could prove was a different story. He left Potter in the cell, filled out a quick form, and left him in the hands of the administration to finish his patrol.

He ran into Dawlish on his way to clock out, as the blue light of encroaching dawn appeared above the rooftops.

"Only one last night, Shack?" Dawlish asked chummily. Kingsley did not like the nickname.

"Only a kid making trouble," he said.

"James Potter," Dawlish said, nodding. "I had him in a month ago for an altercation with a giant. In Bristol."

Kingsley started. "_What_?"

"I know, they're getting bold. Bristol!"

"A giant."

"The property damage was excessive and engaging before the arrival of authority to properly contain witnesses was idiocy plain and clear. And there was an improperly enchanted Muggle vehicle on the scene but it cleared out before Hit Patrol could tag it. Bullheaded little punk wouldn't give up who was helping him, but there's no how he took the giant down alone."

Kingsley felt a little dazed. "How did he, erm—"

"Tripped it," Dawlish said flatly. "Some slick spell, knocked it into the harbour. Not sure how he held it down—are you smiling?"

Dawlish, of course, had been absent the day senses of humor were handed out.

"He shouldn't have engaged," Dawlish said.

Kingsley frowned, since that was essentially what he'd been saying. Dawlish went on about wanting to know who'd been with Potter, but Kingsley tuned him out. "Left something at my desk," he said with a nod, then strolled off, not toward his desk but the lower floor.

He didn't recognize the secretary in front of the holding room entrance. She was dark-haired, round-faced, and a bit younger than him—though not as wet-behind-the-ears as Potter. "Temp?" he asked, stopping at the front desk.

"Yes, sir," she said, smiling.

'Sir'. That made him feel a little old, which he wasn't, at all. "Buzz me on through to James Potter in holding, would you please…" He glanced down at her name tag. "Miss Jones?" he said, grinning widely at her. Secretaries always loved him.

She looked at the book of names open in front of her desk. "Ah…his name's not listed here."

Kingsley restrained a groan. If someone had pushed that boy on to Azkaban to open up room in holding, he'd have to fetch Potter back himself, straightaway. Annoying or not, the kid didn't deserve that.

"Unless he's the tall skinny kid with glasses Mr. Moody came and cleared?"

"Ah," Kingsley said smoothly, trying to hide how startled he was. "I suppose Mr. Moody beat me to it. Thank you for your time, Miss Jones." Moody never, ever bothered with any offences as minor as the sort that landed someone in holding.

Kingsley would have to turn this one over in his mind for a while.

* * *

The next time Kingsley saw James Potter was behind a barricade. He was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt with some golden bird on it, his head was bleeding, and a large black dog was padding after him.

"What is that damn fool doing?" Gawain Robards, in charge of the Aurors on the scene, roared. "Obliviators, stat!"

"He's a wizard, Robards," Kingsley shouted back.

"Why's he dressed like that?"

"Because he thinks he's a punk, apparently," Kingsley muttered.

"What?"

"I've got it in hand," Kingsley shouted, making his way over to him.

"You better!"

Potter waved at Kingsley as he stalked toward him, a silhouette against the burning buildings in the background.

"How'd you get back here?" Kingsley hollered.

"I'm sneaky. We're here to back you up."

"We? What, are there more of you?"

"Well, no one's exactly like me," Potter said, in a mock modest tone. "Think of us as the neighborhood watch."

"No wizarding family lives within seven miles," Kingsley said flatly. However, two Muggle families in this block—Entwhistle and Clearwater—had children tagged for Hogwarts. Perhaps it was coincidence, but more frighteningly, it seemed the Death Eaters had gotten hold of this information, or at least the rough location.

Potter grinned. "Our friendliness knows no bounds. Two things you need to know—we've gotten the civilians out—"

"Which means you consider yourself a combatant?"

The dog woofed and James stared at him evenly. A few red bolts streaked over their heads and both men instinctively ducked. The magical shields were apparently down again, Kingsley thought, cursing mentally, though the magically reinforced wall summoned from all around the street—parts of fences, garbage cans, tree branches, and a dog house (though not nearly big enough to house the black monstrosity with Potter).

"Of course I'm a combatant," Potter said confidently. "There's no innocents to hold you back. There's only seven of them, they're all to the right, and they're _old_."

Seven? There were twenty-odd at least. And—there was another roar—a dragon.

"Avery's a highly skilled illusionist," Potter shouted, over another boom. He grinned again. "And no, I can't prove he's one of them."

Five highly trained Aurors could take out seven power-drunk idiots terrorizing innocents any day, any time. "You better be right," Kingsley said and left Potter behind to take care of himself. He needed a coffee.

* * *

Potter's information was right—the elder Avery was captured, though Kingsley suspected his son had been there as well. The seven seemed to be the fathers of several Slytherins who'd been in school at the same time as Kingsley—all current suspected Death Eaters themselves. Royce Wilkes' father was found dead in his mask and hood after the Aurors shattered their own barricade and plowed through, but an inquest insisted upon by Abraxas Malfoy found Wilkes Sr. had been under the Imperius. He had been no such thing, but the Auror department still received a slap on the wrist in the temporary suspension of Robards from his role as field leader. Dawlish was given the place.

Dawlish was an Auror who did everything right, everything Kingsley himself believed in. He could never figure out what about the man set his teeth on edge.

"Stay where you are, scum!" Dawlish hollered down Knockturn Alley, Kingsley racing at his heels.

"Run, Jimmy!" a voice that did, in fact, sound scummy hissed in the worst whisper Kingsley had ever heard.

"Mundungus Fletcher!" Kingsley boomed, recognizing it.

Mundungus scurried away like a weasel, and Kingsley slowed. "Dawlish," he shouted. "Don't bother, the Hit Patrol can handle the bit stuff like—"

"Got the other one!" Dawlish said triumphantly, dragging James Potter by the scruff of his shirt.

"I didn't run," Potter said, hands in the air. "How's it going, Kingsley?"

"Possession of nightswrath!" Dawlish said, dangling a bag of purple herbs in his wand hand.

"Fleeing from officers of the—"

"Didn't flee," Potter repeated, rolling his eyes at Kingsley.

"Jimmy?" Kingsley said, shaking his head, since apparently Potter had decided they were now first-name friendly.

"Jimmy Potts," James said, laughing, although he couldn't have been comfortable half-lifted by his collar, with only his heels on the ground, "it's my 'street name'—"

Kingsley tried desperately not to laugh.

"Impersonation of an officer of the law, suspicious presence at the scene of the assault, reckless endangerment and engagement with Muggles—"

"I'm engaged, but the only one really recklessly endangered by that is me, since my fiancée sometimes wants to kill me," James confirmed. "Also, wasn't that all from last time? That attack in the country? I helped. Didn't I help?"

"Likely intoxication—"

"He's not high, John," Kingsley said firmly, invoking Dawlish's first name to encourage him to be sane.

"That remains to be seen," Dawlish said. "Cuff him, Shack." Kingsley really disliked being called that. Technically, though, Dawlish was his momentary superior. He sighed and did as he was told.

"I've heard you were in Hufflepuff," James said to Kingsley as, once again, he was marched to a holding cell.

Kingsley stiffened. He'd had to knock a few people down in Auror training who thought Hufflepuffs were all soft duffers.

"So how come you never played Quidditch?"

"Back to this?" Kingsley said. "You weren't in school then. What makes you think the team then could've used me?"

"If you were in Hufflepuff, I'm relatively sure any team in their history could have used you." Kingsley's glare didn't give him pause, perhaps because he was standing behind James and his arrestee was looking forward. "Unless you're afraid of heights. Or can't sit a broom. Or—"

"I'm allowed to render prisoners capable of doing me harm unconscious," Kingsley said warningly. "And I'm feeling a headache coming on." Truthfully, he hadn't had time for Quidditch. His family didn't come from piles of Galleons like James'. He'd always known he'd needed the grades to get a job to pay back his tuition loans as soon as possible after school, and once he'd found himself drawn to a career as an Auror, he'd focused on that with single-minded determination. He had participated in Dueling Club, but more because that looked good on an Auror application than for the fun of it. "Why didn't you apply for Auror training?" he countered. "Even if you didn't have the grades, with your family connections, I'd wager you'd get in."

James' back stiffened. "Takes too long," he said. "We're needed now."

"Your mysterious 'we'," Kingsley commented. He left Potter planted in place, unlocking the cell door. He could have passed him off to someone else to escort to holdup, but, in all honesty, he was curious. "Your friends, I believe. I suppose you couldn't have joined the Aurors without your friend the werewolf, and frankly, that'd never be allowed. Which is quite probably a shame."

James stared in horror.

"I didn't think you were buying nightswrath recreationally," Kingsley said. "I'm familiar with its uses in easing the pain of such transformations. It's that time of the month. And it's clearly not for you. So, a friend. Or, that fiancée?" James was pleasantly silent and his eyes were matching the roundness of his glasses. "No, I didn't think so. Your friend with the motorcycle—Mr. Black maybe? The Auror office has a profile on every member of the Black family, I should dig his up—he'd never make it through Auror background check." Kingsley liked that Potter had kept to a route that kept him close to his friends. He liked loyalty. It was the unauthorized, wannabe rebel part he had a problem with. "So, a vigilante movement of well-meaning youths the system could never condone. Close, am I?" Kingsley tapped his wand against his wrist in thought. "Except you've got Alastor Moody getting you off the hook." So it was more than that.

James said nothing for a moment, then leaned against the cell wall. "You going to let me off first this time, Kingsley?"

All he could think was what a bad precedent it set. Evan Rosier had been bailed out of Azkaban by his mother twice this month alone, after weeks of work to get him arrested on suspicion of Muggle torture. Malfoy money had seen to it the Wizengamot cleared Garfield Goyle of all charges in a rape case involving Imperius and elderly Mrs. Macnair on some to-do with necromancy. Royce Wilkes worked in law enforcement and let the minor thugs he was friends with out left and right. How was he different from them, if he, too, worked around the law, treated it like a joke?

A quieter voice in his head left him feeling slightly petulant. If Alastor Moody was manning his own watch in the name of constant vigilance, wouldn't he choose the best? Why James Potter and his miscreant friends…and not Kingsley? He'd break the rules for Moody, wouldn't he? Even if he did think his old mentor to be occasionally extreme and unbalanced…? It made Kingsley feel like a kid in the schoolyard, left out of the cool kid's game, and he didn't like it, one bit. If he let Potter out, though…wouldn't that be a sign to them he was in?

He rubbed at his forehead. "You want a coffee?" Kingsley said to James.

James lifted his head from the wall. "Double milk and double the sugar."

No way was he giving James Potter double sugar. Kingsley nodded at him and strolled away, still thinking.

When he came back with the coffee, Miss Jones at the desk, temping again this week, told him Fabian Prewett of the Hit Patrol had been by to spring James Potter not five minutes previously.

* * *

James Potter was being arrested for blatant disregard of the Statute of Secrecy, in other words bringing a statue to seeming life in Kensington Gardens, in front of any number of tourists, when Kingsley next came across him. A very pretty redheaded girl was arguing against it and waving her wand at the Wizarding Hit Patrol officers holding James down on the grass. She looked likely to be arrested herself, and James, though one cheek was pressed against the ground, seemed to be calmly telling her to get a grip.

"What seems to be the trouble here?" Kingsley asked calmly. He'd been nearby in Hyde Park, quelling an attack on tourists and wiping the Dark Mark out of the sky. It seemed there'd been some spillover.

The third of the officers, the one not occupied holding James down, explained what they knew of the situation, from a report called in to the Muggle police. They'd caught James, matching multiple descriptions of the perpetrator, on his way out of the park with the angry young lady.

Kingsley looked at James, who somehow managed to shrug despite being pinned down on the ground. Undoubtedly, he'd had cause for whatever he'd done. Simply not the authority to do it.

"But none of you actually saw this young man cast the spell?"

The Hit Patrol officers did not appear to like the direction this was heading in.

"I'm afraid the evidence won't hold up," Kingsley said, flashing a very white smile at them. "I can name at least three potential suspects fitting the description right now—including one very nasty piece of work called Jimmy Potts—much more likely than James here, out for a stroll with his—quite lovely—" He added in the direction of the girl, "—fiancée, especially since he's such a close and personal friend of both Prewett brothers. Who I believe are well-respected colleagues of yours, officers."

He hated pulling rank. He really did. But Aurors came in far greater in the weighing of the wands than the Hit Patrol, which everyone knew was full of would-be Aurors who hadn't made the grades and Quidditch players who hadn't made a team. "Let him up now, please," he said, and though his tone was cordial, it brokered no room for argument. "I believe the Obliviators back in Hyde Park could use some aid in the clean-up. I'll take any remaining questioning from here." The officers stepped away from James, but they made no move to actually leave, looking between James and Kingsley with wary, disappointed eyes. He'd never before had a reputation for letting friends off. Likely he would now. "Dismissed," Kingsley said sharply, and with a crack! the officers Disapparated.

"Thank you," the pretty redhead said, yanking James' arm and beginning to pull grass out of his hair before he even stood up all the way. James spat a little dirt out of his mouth. She looked over at Kingsley and he could see her measuring him up behind those big green eyes. "James didn't have a choice, you see—"

"Miss," Kingsley said, "all I know is, your stroll was unfortunately interrupted. And right now I don't need to know anymore. I've got to get back to work."

She looked at him shrewdly. "It's good work," she said quietly.

He nodded his head at her. "I like to think so."

"Someday, you should—"

"Not today, Lily," James said quietly, stilling her with a slight brush of his hand against hers.

"No," Kingsley agreed, even more softly. "I think not." He wanted to do things the right way, as long as he could. It seemed, though, with each day, he was losing track of the right thing a little more. Aurors were allowed to kill now. To compel. To torture. If he could adjust to those shades of grey, he could certainly make room for a little vigilantism in his worldview.

Maybe then Alastor Moody, his hero, would want Kingsley Shacklebolt in his secret club. "Be seeing you, punk," Kingsley said, with a straight face, and turned around to walk over and investigate what remained of Potter's handiwork.

"Hey, Kingsley," James called after him. He smiled tiredly when Kingsley turned back. He was wearing that same silly T-shirt with the golden bird, though the white had long gone grey, from alley dust and soot and likely the blood being washed out many times. He couldn't be twenty yet. He looked much older. "Wish you had played Quidditch. You'll get it yet, but the game teaches you early."

Kingsley couldn't help himself. "What's that?"

James winked. "When you ought to break the rules."


End file.
